15
Iwake to sunlight streaming in through the windows, dust motes drifting through the beams, and a dull ache in the back of my head. The skin on my throat is sore to the touch. It hurts to breathe.
Groaning would hurt or I’d do it.
The front door is wide open and shirtless August Aymes is sitting on the step with his feet in the sand, gazing at the temple. He’s eating from a tray full of fruit, bread, and cheese. They’ve also supplied carafes of fresh water and juice.
He notices when I sit up. “I went and got yours from your house,” he says, nodding to the table beside the bed. “And you lost your feather in the sheets last night, so I put that on your tray, too.”
“Thank you.”
August’s mood sours. He scratches the back of his head. “Your house is pretty much destroyed.”
I sigh. “I know.”
Beside my side of the bed, my sheath and prosthesis rest on the floor.
I twist to plant my foot on the floor and work the sheath onto my thigh.
August peels an orange and eats a section, curiously glancing my way when I slide my thigh into the prosthetic and the pin slips into the lock with a click.
Daedalus’s magic wraps itself around my leg, securing it.
I stand, find my balance with ease, and walk to collect my breakfast, carrying the tray to the doorway. “Can I sit with you?”
“Of course.”
He takes my tray as I join him, scooting over to give me room. The scent of his orange makes my mouth water, so I peel mine and try it. It’s fresh, and so, so flavorful. I wish I could send one to Abuela and Cillian.
I picture her working in her garden, humming as she prunes what doesn’t really need pruning, and watches her resplendent green friends flit around.
I wonder if Cillian is already in Olympus for the day, working for the gods I hate most. In a few days, will he be in the colosseum to watch our second trial? What if I don’t make it?
My chest tightens. I’m worrying, and I need to stop.
August’s throat works as he drinks his juice. A worthy distraction if I’ve ever seen one.
“So, where do you live?” I ask. “Where’s home?”
He lowers the glass. “Are you asking me which realm I live in, or whose blood I have?”
I shrug. “Both, I guess.”
“Let’s see…” He pops a grape into his mouth. “I have Slavic blood from my father, Norse from my mother. Not that I’d ever want to be compared to Torsten.” He eats another grape, favoring those over the remainder of his orange. “What about you?”
“My Da was solely Celtic.”
“Was?” he asks.
“He died when we were kids. Abuela – my grandmother – is Mexica. Azteca.”
His brows rise. “Aztec?”
I nod at the moniker.
“I thought that bloodline was gone.”
The Mexica people left generations ago.
Abuela told us that the feathered serpent god, Quetzalcoatl, formed a portal no other god could breach and took his people through it to a land called Atzlán. She thinks they still live and thrive there without the interference of the gods Quetzalcoatl and his pantheon consider ‘lesser’.
She said he made and left the bright birds for those who stayed behind. A reminder and a promise of some sort.
While I want to believe in her stories of the golden city with its lush bounty and floating islands, my grandmother loves telling fanciful tales with happy endings. And she adores anything to do with the pretty birds that grace her garden and eat our crumbs.
I gesture to myself. “I’m living proof.”
August’s eyes sweep over my shirt – his shirt – to my bare leg and prosthesis. When he notices me watching him, I glance away.
He swipes a crust of bread into the honeyed butter smeared on his plate. “Where do you live, then?”
“A tiny desert town.” A land belonging to no realm, where anyone from anywhere is welcome, not that many choose to live in the harsh heat.
“You live in the desert?” he marvels, looking off in the distance like he might be imagining it. “I’ve always wanted to see a saguaro cactus.”
“Really?” I scrunch my nose. I pass thirty or so on my walk between Abuela’s and the portal, and the walk isn’t that far. I guess when you’ve seen something your whole life, it seems ordinary.
He stretches his back and rolls his shoulders. “I live in the Keltore Mountains, also between realms,” he tells me.
I laugh. “I figured you lived in a big city.”
He shakes his head. “Nah. I visit them often enough, but I don’t want to live anywhere I can’t see the stars at night.”
“You sound like –” I stop myself. My heart swells. Talking with him is so easy, I forgot what I was saying.
He tilts his head, waiting. “Like?”
I release a trapped breath. “My sister loved the night sky.”
He points to the feather on my tray. “Do you wear the feathers in memory of her?”
“Yes and no.” I try to smile. “Quetzals visit Abuela’s garden.
They make her happy. She leaves little crumbs on the windowsill and watches for them to land to pick them up.
She loves their singing.” I twist the feather back and forth.
“Sometimes they leave little gifts.” I hold up the feather.
“For luck, Abuela says. My brother gave me one the day I left for Morrigan’s realm, then was sent here.
And he brought another one the night he visited the island.
He said I should wear them to remember him and Abuela, but they remind me of Carina, too.
She has a collection of their feathers on her dresser… ”
Not a speck of dust has collected on them. Abuela cleans her room like preserving it gives her purpose now. Another sorrowful garden she tends.
When I look over at him, August is smiling softly at me. “We’ll find the other one.”
I groan and look over at my trashed oikos. “It’ll take forever to clean that mess.”
He nudges my arm. “Good thing you have an ally to help.”
I smile. “Yes, it is. Thank you, August. For everything.”
Thank you for running to help me last night.
For tossing Torsten out of my house and into the sea.
For bringing me here. Giving me clothes. Making me feel comfortable. Sharing your bed. Having breakfast with me.
Sitting with me the first night. Covering the fresco the next morning.
For being my ally. And my friend.
A brilliant, ornery grin forms on his lips as he lifts his cup of juice.
“What?”
His shoulders rise and fall. “Just imagining how Torsten’s face looks today.”
I snort. “Hopefully worse than mine.”
“Freyja might take her cloak back when she hears how miserably he failed.”
I quirk a brow. “Think he’ll tell her the truth?”
August thinks about it for a few breaths. “I wouldn’t lie to a goddess. Especially that one. But then again, I’m pretty sure I’m smarter than Torsten.”
“Definitely,” I laugh.
After breakfast, we walk next door.
Niall comes out of his house right as August and I are about to enter mine. He glances pointedly between us. His brows furrow at the sight of me wearing nothing but an obviously borrowed tee shirt and boxer shorts, walking home with Aymes.
He raises a hand and waves; I ignore it.
The mess is so much worse than I realized. I manage to find a pair of shorts, pluck a bra from beneath the smashed table, and even unearth a shirt before walking into the bathing room to change.
Other than some towels tossed on the floor, the bathing room is fine. I tug on my clothes, pulling my hair into a twist that probably won’t stay since I have no idea where he threw my hair ties, and walk back out when I hear August questioning Niall in a low, threatening tone.
“I had no idea,” Niall stresses, his hands up. “None.”
Niall’s expression darkens when he takes in the bruises on my throat. I walk closer and stare at him so he can see the veins that had burst in the whites of my eyes. I glanced once in the mirror just now and saw them. Now I want him to look.
My voice is rusty. “He didn’t tell you he was going after my spear?”
“No! I mean, I figured some people who didn’t get weapons would try to steal them, but he never mentioned anything.
We just looked around the palaestra to see how it was equipped and laid out.
Then Torsten said he was tired and asked if we’d meet him back there at midday today.
When he left, I thought he was going home to shower and sleep. ”
“You should ask your little friend Veronia if she knew.” I bend down to pick up the first of many pieces of splintered wood. This one used to be part of my last remaining chair.
He’s quiet for a long minute, which speaks volumes.
He thinks she could have, might have, known about Torsten’s plan.
And if she did, she didn’t mention it to him.
Maybe she thought Niall would try to stop him or warn me.
I’m not sure what he would have done if he knew what Torsten planned to do.
But the other possibility is that they don’t trust Niall.
“You should be careful with the company you keep. If he’d do this to Callalie, he’ll do it to you,” August advises.
Niall bristles. “It’s not like I can choose other allies. The gods separated us!”
“Get out, Niall.” I don’t want to hear how he’s going to run back to the bastards when the sun peaks. I don’t want to hear his voice anymore.
“What?” he asks. “No, I want to help!”
“I don’t want your help. I don’t want you here. We’ve been over this. Nothing’s changed.”
He sighs and puts his hands on his hips. “Callalie.”
“Get out!” I hurl the piece of wood and it smacks the wall beside his head. “And good luck with your new friends. When you feel a blade in your back, you’ll know who put it there.”
Fuming, he glances over at August for help.
August leans against the door frame and lifts a shoulder as if to ask Niall what he’s waiting for.
It’s my decision. My oikos.
Niall finally turns to leave.
My hair falls when I bend to pick up some ceramic shards. When I straighten again and look around, I press a hand to my forehead, completely overwhelmed.